


Here, at the End of All Things

by X_Kartoffel_X



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: First War with Voldemort, Gen, Harry Potter - Freeform, M/M, Marauders, Marauders Friendship, Marauders era, Marauders' Era, Wizarding Wars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-29
Updated: 2017-07-29
Packaged: 2018-12-08 15:23:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11649351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/X_Kartoffel_X/pseuds/X_Kartoffel_X
Summary: He could hear nothing.Not the roar of the engine; not the beating of his heart. Not the rasping of his own breath.The house lay before him; the house where Lily and James had hidden away, safe and secure with their young son. The house that was meant to keep them protected from any and all harm. The house that had been all but a fortress, secured by Dumbledore, by Sirius himself, by Peter, by James and Lily.The house that now stood, smouldering and barely more than ruins.





	Here, at the End of All Things

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this a long, long while ago - about 4 years ago now - as an exploration of my Wolfstar and general Marauder-era headcanons, and as a character-study of Sirius Black in particular, as I find him fascinatingly flawed.
> 
> Hopefully, other fans will enjoy my interpretation too <3

It had been niggling at the back of his mind for hours now.

 

Just a feeling – an uneasy feeling that left the pit of Sirius Black’s stomach in knots, left him pacing around the house uneasily, glancing at the clock every few minutes; at the simmering fireplace, peering at the street through the frayed, dust-stained lace that covered the window. The feeling had settled within him just after the sun had set, and had only worsened as the evening progressed – grew ever more powerful with the increasing darkness of the outside world. Every noise set him on edge, even the gentle, tuneful laughter of children rushing excitedly through the street; giggling as they knocked on door upon door, expectantly holding out bags for chocolate and treats.

 

He might have blamed Halloween itself for the feeling, if it hadn’t been one of his favourite holidays; too many years at Hogwarts, celebrating the day in careless joy, to really remember how sinister of a holiday it _really_ was.

 

The door which led from the living room to the kitchen opened suddenly and Sirius turned, stance showing his readiness for a fight, only to blink when he saw that it was Remus, holding a large bowl of chocolates and sweets in his arms. The brunette started a little at the sight of Sirius, so on edge, so aggressive, brow furrowing in an instant.

 

“What on earth is wrong with you?” He questioned worriedly, setting the bowl down on the table beside the sofa. Sirius looked away from him and let out a forced, uneven chuckle.

 

“Nothing. I’m fine. Just bloody peachy.” His tone was not at all convincing, and even he knew this – the great actor that he usually was, his pretence had proven impossible to uphold of late, and he tired of trying. He had been planning to see Peter that night, and had thought of cancelling it, after Lily had claimed to have seen him only the previous week, but that feeling… faced with that feeling, he was no longer sure he should. Surely if Peter was alright, everything would be fine, but it had been a _week_ , after all; anything could have happened… And so he thought perhaps he aught to just head straight to where James and Lily were hidden, or…

 

Something was wrong.

 

“Sirius…” Remus reached out a frail-looking hand and placed it on Sirius’s upper-arm, a soft, insecure smile finding its way onto his concerned features. Sirius fought the urge to shrug the touch from his body; struggled not to turn and glare at Remus with disdain. But he was a better actor than that, and this, at least, he could withhold as an illusion – even just for now. Even if all the trust he had held in Remus had begun to taint, to ebb away in recent months, he could still smile into that tired looking face and _pretend_ everything was still alright. Pretend that their relationship, held on such a frayed string of late, was a strong and loving as ever. “Sirius, what’s wrong…?”

 

“Nothing, just… bad feeling, you know?”

 

Something had to be wrong.

 

“Mmm. I get them all the time, lately. Best not to dwell on them if you can help it…”

 

Ah, there it was again. ‘Don’t dwell on it’, ‘don’t think about it too much’, ‘just leave it be, I’m sure it’ll be fine’ – Remus was always telling him that at the moment; was always disappearing without warning, returning without a word as to where he had been, save pathetic excuses about private matters. Was always looking wretchedly guilty after every failed mission the Order suffered. Was always looking more pale and thin and ill of late. Always, always, _always_ clung to him so tightly when he returned safely, as if he had been so sure that he would lose him.

 

Sirius knew the latter should be the most normal thing in the world but, combined with the guilt, with his waning health, with all his elusive behaviour of late… it just seemed too much. It seemed too forced, too false.

 

Sirius was worried about Peter. About James, and Lily, and Harry… and he wanted to tell Remus – confide in him as he always had done. As he had done on all those lazy mornings, curled up in their double-bed; nothing but each other and a thin, scratchy old blanket to keep themselves warm, able to share their thoughts and feelings with so little fear of ridicule…

 

He ached at the thought of the trust they had lost. The distance they had gained, which pried open his chest, left a gaping hole that stung like nothing he had ever felt before.

 

“Sirius…” Remus leant close, tiptoeing slightly to plant a quick, chaste kiss upon the taller man’s lips. The ache throbbed a little, and his lips remained unresponsive for a moment, before he kissed softly back – none of the usual enthusiasm, none of the usual mirth. Just a press of skin against skin. Remus pulled back, looking even more concerned than before. “You’re… you’re really worried about this, aren’t you?”

 

He _was_ worried, and he couldn’t confide properly in Remus anymore. He could only trust himself and his own instincts; and in that moment, his instincts were telling him one thing, and one thing only.

 

Something was _definitely wrong_.

 

He had to go and see Peter. Because if Peter was alright, James, Lily and Harry would be too…

 

“Look… I think I might… I might go out for a bit, yeah?” Sirius forced a smile, and looked down at Remus in the most apologetic manner he could muster. The brunette however, did not seem to approve of the idea at all. “Clear my head or something. Might do me some good to have a whiz around on the motorbike.” The tight line of Remus’s mouth said more than words could have; he didn’t want Sirius to go out – even Sirius had to admit it was a stupid idea, really, with the way things were… but he _had_ to go.

 

Because that worry wouldn’t leave him.

 

“I’ll be careful. Dissilusionment charms and everything.” He lied, smiling that soft smile which he knew could still melt even Remus’s coldest of moods. He couldn’t afford not to go – he had to be sure; even if all that he did was prove himself to be a paranoid idiot. “I just… I really need some time to cool off, okay? My head’s not in the right place right now, if I’m honest…”

 

A heavy sigh escaped from Remus’s lips, and he leant up again, kissing Sirius with a bit more force this time. “Alright, but you _promise_ you’ll be careful?” The taller man nodded. “And you’ll be back before it gets too late?” Another nod. Remus looked like a mother berating her unruly child, and sounded it as well. “All right, but if you get back late, I have every right to wallop you, git. _Hard_.”

 

Sirius forced a light chuckle as Remus gave him a meaningful prod above his heart, and leant foreword, planting a gentle kiss upon the brunette’s cheek. “I’ll be back soon, I promise.”

 

He wasn’t sure whether or not he’d be able to keep that promise, but Remus smiled and nodded, if reluctantly, and, with one final squeeze of his hand, their little fingers brushing, entwining lightly, as he pulled away, he turned and headed out into the hallway. Sirius grabbed his wand from the arm of the couch, stuffing it down the back of his jeans, and followed suit; finding Remus stood dutifully by the front door, Sirius’s long leather coat bundled in his hands, along with his biker goggles and a dusty old scarf the two of them often shared.

 

The ache throbbed again, but the worry overtook it.

 

“I’m not letting you catch a cold,” He murmured, as he helped Sirius put on the scarf and coat, pausing before he handed him his goggles. Sirius blinked at him, frowning. “Just… you will come back safe, wont you?”

 

“I’m _me,_ Moony. I always come back.” He forced that stupid smile again, and hated himself for it.

 

But he had to go.

 

“There’s always a first time, Sirius…”

 

“Not for me.”

 

And Remus gave in, handed over his goggles. They shared a tight hug before Sirius pushed his way out of the door and into the chilly night air; clinging so tightly, as if they might never have the chance again – and Sirius wondered if they would. Still, he waved as casually as ever from the seat of his motorcycle, when he saw Remus still stood in the doorway – looking utterly worried. Looking as though he wanted to run out and stop him from leaving.

 

But if he didn’t make sure…

 

If he didn’t check up on Peter…

 

The engine roared to life beneath him, and he didn’t allow himself to glance back to Remus, before he took to the air in a loud, crashing roar of engine, rising high, so high – up and above the clouds themselves, before accelerating off into the night.

 

*

 

“PETER!!!” Sirius burst through the doors of the small house, wand raised and ready, focussed and ready for anything that might be thrown at him. The house remained still, unmoving; not even a sound to hint that anyone or anything lay within those eerily quiet hallways and rooms. “PETER PETTIGREW!?!”

 

All remained still, and Sirius, wand held before him, began to make his way down the narrow entrance hallway; his breaths were quick, uneven and panicked, and his eyes darted about him in an almost frenzied manner. He peered through the open door of the drawing room and saw what he always saw on his visits to Peter. A relatively tidy room, where everything sat exactly where it had always sat. Exactly where it had sat the last time Sirius had seen Peter. Newspapers, days old, sat upon the arm of the dusty old couch, unmoved since they had been placed there.

 

Everything was as it aught to have been.

 

Which, considering there was no sign of Peter, was exactly as it _shouldn’t_ have been.

 

“PETER!!” Bounding out of the room, Sirius ran to the kitchen, and again, found everything exactly as he remembered it. Nothing out of place. No sign of trouble. No sign of a struggle.

 

But Sirius could still hope…

 

He ran upstairs so quickly he almost put his foot through one of the rotting wooden stairs; felt it sink beneath his heavy boots. But he didn’t stop; simply kept running, forced his way through the bedroom door and turned his head this way and that, trying to catch any sight of his friend, or anything, that might help him figure out what was going on.

 

There was nothing.

 

Just an empty house.

 

A clock chimed somewhere downstairs, signalling that it was eleven o’clock. Sirius could already feel bile rising in his throat, as all his recent conversations with Peter replayed in his mind – how unsure he’d been about becoming the secret keeper. How insecure he became the moment he was given the task. He thought of how nervous Peter had been acting recently; how quiet he had gotten. How long it took to get even a meagre reply from him. It was then, when he recalled what Lily had said about their friend in her last letter.

 

‘ _Wormy was here last weekend, I thought he seemed down.’_

 

Sirius felt his heart stop.

 

All of a sudden, everything made sense.

 

“James…”

 

He tore out of the room and vaulted the stairs, almost tripping on his way down. He righted himself before he went tumbling into a heap at the foot of the door, managed to grab the handle and tear it open; he was out of the door and running down the path, shaking uncontrollably as he flung himself over the gate and grabbed at the handles of his motorcycle

 

But it dawned upon him that it would take far too long to get to Godric’s Hollow if he flew there – James, Lily and Harry might already be-

 

No. He wouldn’t even consider that. This was James and Lily Potter. He was going to get to the Hollow and everything would be fine, and this would all just be an attack of paranoia, a breakdown that had long been anticipated; under the current World circumstances, it was only normal to have insane bouts of worry and concern. Peter, for all Sirius knew, was visiting James and Lily for the very same reason as he had been planning to; because of that same, uneasy feeling.

 

Even with his attempts to calm his own rattled nerves, Sirius could not push past his own mind. What if Peter really had betrayed them? What if he had told the Dark Lord the whereabouts of the Potters? What if Sirius was too late…

 

He made a decision. Gripping the handlebars of his motorcycle tightly, as the machine burst into life, roaring loudly beneath him, he closed his eyes and thought of the outskirts of Godric’s Hollow, knowing the charms of protection placed upon the village would keep him from apparating too close. Concentrated so hard that a painful throbbing spread through his head, down through his neck, into his shoulders, arms and back. Then he heard nothing but air rushing all around him, then a horrible, crushing pressure; his body ached in protest, and his motorcycle groaned and rattled under the pressure, but it held firm, practically growling as the pressure subsided and Sirius opened his eyes to see the cobbled pathways of Godric’s Hollow closing in below him.

 

The motorcycle hit the floor with a resounding BANG, and Sirius lurched at the force; but he accelerated immediately, zooming through the streets in a rush of air and a mass of smoke.

 

He rounded a corner.

 

His heart pounded in his ears, and then ceased.

 

He could hear nothing.

 

Not the roar of the engine; not the beating of his heart. Not the rasping of his own breath.

 

The house lay before him; the house where Lily and James had hidden away, safe and secure with their young son. The house that was meant to keep them protected from any and all harm. The house that had been all but a fortress, secured by Dumbledore, by Sirius himself, by Peter, by James and Lily.

 

The house that now stood, smouldering and barely more than ruins. A large chunk of the upstairs had been blown apart, and Sirius felt his heart sink as he realised that it was indeed Harry’s room that lay in such ruin.

 

Jumping from his bike, Sirius stumbled through the gate; still no sound entered his ears, as he approached the open door – hanging from its hinges as if it had been blasted open. Everything felt numb, and he could barely register what he was actually doing.

 

He stepped through the threshold and saw that the pictures upon the walls had fallen, or been knocked down. The glass had shattered and splintered across the floorboards, crunching beneath Sirius’s boots as he shakily made his way into the house. The china plates, which had rested neatly atop a cabinet set against the wall, lay broken and ruined, the cabinet itself almost blocking the entrance corridor of the house. Sirius ducked under it, still shaking, and peered into the living room through the door to his left; it was almost untouched, though several books and newspapers had been strewn across the floor, perhaps in a mad panic… Sirius saw James’s wand resting atop the small cabinet beside the sofa, and, for a brief moment, he felt his stomach lurch.

 

One of his trembling hands found the banister of the stairs, just inches ahead of him, and gripped it tight. He didn’t need to look through the rest of this house, to know where his best friend James, or where Lily and Harry, would be. James would never have backed down from defending his wife and child; not ever. That wasn’t the young, arrogant, confident and courageous James Potter that Sirius Black knew.

 

But James, brave as he was, was nothing against the Dark Lord without his wand.

 

Sirius, still shaking, barely breathing, still aware of nothing, just moving through the motions, lifted his head to start up the stairs.

 

And he saw the feet, resting atop the staircase; the body they belonged to having fallen. Having been knocked down.

 

Everything went numb, and for a moment, Sirius thought that perhaps he should leave; turn around and walk away, pretend that he had never entered that house. Go somewhere, disappear, and never look back. But his legs had already begun to move, carrying him up the creaking stairs; the banister was cracked in places, unsteady under Sirius’s hand. Still he could hear nothing, nothing at all, even though he knew his heart must be pounding so hard it would hurt – even if he was sure that the banister and stairs groaned in protest at every step he took.

 

He couldn’t hear anything.

 

Not the creaking of the stairs beneath his feet.

 

Not the beating of his own heart.

 

Not even his own, strangled scream, as he found James’s lifeless body lying across the landing.

 

He felt nothing but the painful, stabbing ache in his heart, not even as his knees cracked against the hard oak stair, legs buckling as his hands fell to James’s chest.

 

But somehow he felt a horrible sense of _cold_ beneath his hands; enough to realise that his best friend must have been dead for hours before he had even realised anything was wrong. Before he had even thought to come looking for him. The pain of that feeling worsened, became an aching throb throughout his whole body.

 

He felt the tears welling in his eyes but still he heard nothing; could not register how his sobs came from his throat like the cries of a dying animal. Like the howls of a wounded dog.

 

His hands gripped at James’s shirt, and for a time it was as if there was nothing; nothing but James’s dead body, and that stabbing, throbbing ache coursing through his veins as he convulsed uncontrollably…

 

A baby let out a soft cry somewhere nearby, breaking the silence that had drowned Sirius. His own voice was foreign to him when it sounded – broken.

 

“Harry.”

 

He heard two loud thuds, and it was like waking from a trance.

 

“Lily… Harry!” He stumbled to his feet, supporting his trembling body with his hands against the walls around him, hurrying to the room at the end of the thin hall; to little Harry’s bedroom. Already, he could see a lifeless hand, strewn across the floor just through the doorway, but he could hear it. The soft crying of a baby, and he hoped and prayed, over the painful drumming of his heart, that somehow, mother and child lived.

 

He almost recoiled, as his eyes met the lifeless green of Lily’s own; eyes that had always been so full of life, so full of fire and emotion.

 

But then…

 

“Sirius? Is that you?”

 

He blinked, suddenly aware that the large form of Rubeus Hagrid, the Hogwarts Gamekeeper, filled just under half of the ruined room… and nestled in his arms, crying softly, was a small, tufty-haired baby, a stark, lightening shaped scar clear against the soft, pale skin of his forehead.

 

“What on earth are you doin’ here?”

 

Sirius couldn’t speak; breaths coming out ragged and hurried. His eyes had fallen back to Lily’s body and he began to tremble ever more violently, seeing the sadness in her eyes, the tears that had dried against her cheeks. He shook from head to toe, uncontrollably; and before he could help it, he began to cry. The tears fell down his cheeks, and his sobs came out in great, shuddering breaths – a pathetic sight; the proud, always joking Sirius Black, sobbing his heart out, weeping like a child, but it didn’t matter.

 

Nothing mattered now.

 

There was no Lily.

 

No James.

 

Nothing.

 

He had nothing left.

 

“A-alrigh’, calm down… I… I know Sirius, I know…” Hagrid had set Harry down into his cot again, where he continued to cry, whimpering quietly, and moved to grab at the unsteady form of the younger man, who looked likely to collapse at any moment. He sank with Sirius, arms around him, down to the floor, as the smaller man reached out and knelt across Lily’s body, his shaking hands falling to her dust-littered jumper, to her soft, long red hair, that somehow seemed to have lost its usual shine. She too, was cold, a horrific reminder that he, their closest friend, had been too late – had been powerless to save them.

 

He howled, louder, as his tears slipped down and scattered across Lily’s soft features. Hagrid shook beside him, and he felt the telltale wetness of the other mans tears splatter over his outstretched hands.

 

“Gone…. Not… not coming back…” Sirius managed to gasp between his convulsing sobs, gasped as he chocked on his own tears, and one of his hands moved, from Lily’s hair, that soft, familiar hair that was all too painful of a reminder of what was now gone – and gripped at Hagrid’s coat, tight, so tight Sirius was surprised the giant of a man did not complain, but soon Hagrid’s own cries became loud, animalistic howls. He was sharing the burden of Sirius’s pain, or trying to, perhaps.

 

But even as they sobbed, helpless, together, Sirius realised he’d never know.

 

Never know how much this hurt – he wasn’t the one who had failed them, wasn’t the one who knew the truth of what had conspired that night. Wasn’t the one who had to live, knowing that Peter, a dear friend to them all, was the reason his closest friends lay dead, their child orphaned. Alone. He didn’t have to live, with that all consuming rage, growing like a scorching fire inside him.

 

Peter.

 

It had to be Peter.

 

Peter had betrayed them.

 

Peter was the reason they were dead.

 

Tears of rage joined the fear, the pain and the helplessness.

 

_Peter._

 

“Sirius… it… it’s alrigh’… Harry. Harry’s still alive.”

 

_Harry._

 

There was something.

 

_He still had Harry._

 

“Ha…Hagrid. Let me take Harry.” His voice was uneven, he was practically still sobbing, but he managed to speak at least, lifting himself from Lily’s body and tugging at Hagrid’s arm almost demandingly. The giant of a man peered at him for a moment, taken aback by his recovery, perhaps – eyes clouded with tears and insecurity, before a look of apology covered his features. A look of guilt.

 

“Sirius, yer know I’d give ‘im to yeh if I could…”

 

“Hagrid, I’m his Godfather. This… this is what I’m meant to do.” Sirius took a deep, shuddering breath and forced the tears away; strengthening his resolve. Clinging to his one last ray of hope. “Please, give Harry to me.”

 

“Dumbledore already told me ter take him to ‘is aunt and uncle.” He paused. “Sorry… I… I jus’ cant give ‘im to yeh.”

 

“To those… No. Not them. Lily told me about them. You cant, Hagrid, please! You have to give him to me, I’m his _Godfather!”_

 

Sirius knew, then, that unless Hagrid gave him Harry, gave him that one last living piece of James and Lily, that he was going to go and do something incredibly stupid. Something that would haunt him for as long as he lived –

 

Which he suddenly realised might not be very long at all.

 

“Hagrid.” He felt the fight leaving him. There was no use. “Please…”

 

“I can’t.”

 

Swallowing, Sirius allowed his shoulders to slump once again, admitting defeat. His voice was almost hollow when it came. “How are you getting him there?”

 

“By broom. Though I doubt it’ll make the journey, if ‘m hones’…” Hagrid gestured a sorry excuse for a broomstick, laying against the wall behind him, and was bewildered when Sirius shook his head.

 

“Not on that. You’re not taking Harry on that.” Sirius shook his head again, and began to stand – trembling upon his own legs, pulling his goggles from where they rested around his neck and holding them up to Hagrid in one shaking hand. “Take my bike.”

 

“Your… Sirius, ‘ave you gone mad?! You love tha’ bike!”

 

“It’s much safer than any broom… besides I…” He’d made up his mind. He had nothing left now, nothing but that burning, aching rage. Nothing but this hungry desire for revenge. He pushed the goggles into Hagrid’s still hand, letting go. “I won’t be needing it any more.”

 

“You… Sirius, don’t you go doin’ nothing stupid, alrigh’?” Hagrid was watching him carefully, as he stood, and picked his way to Harry’s cot, looking solemnly at the still-crying baby within. “Sirius…” He’d lifted Harry up, along with his pale blanket, cradled him in his arms, and his shoulders had begun to shake once again. The baby however, ceased its wailing – silent tears still covered its features, but it had calmed so easily. So readily, for Sirius.

 

“I won’t.” He muttered darkly, adding, barely audible; “I’ll only do what’s fair.”

 

With one last helpless glance down at the baby held in his arms, already looking so very much like James’s son, Sirius turned to Hagrid and handed him over, watching silently as the giant, with one last apologetic glance to him, bundled the baby into the blanket, and then safely under his harm. “The bike’s out front. Hurry up before the muggles start showing up.”

 

Hagrid nodded, his expression still betraying his concerns over what Sirius might be planning, and left, heading for the stairs. He let out a weak sob as he passed the landing, and Sirius didn’t have to guess why; it wasn’t long however, before the house was plunged into eerie silence once more, and the young man was left with nothing but his own malicious anger, burning like a fire inside him.

 

He’d always made jokes that his fiery temper was the only thing he’d inherited from the Black family. He understood now that it was no joke, this hateful, all-consuming rage. He couldn’t let this go, even if he had wanted to he would never have been able to let this go – the anger gripped the pain tight and held it close to his aching heart.

 

Knowing that muggles would soon be swarming about the practically ruined house, Sirius didn’t intend to dwell too long there; casting one last, sorrowful glance at Lily, and feeling the tears stinging at his eyes, he turned and headed for the landing. James remained exactly where he had been, still and unmoving, and Sirius couldn’t bear it; he shakily stepped closer to his best friends body, and knelt slowly beside it.

 

“I’m sorry James.” Reaching down gently, he readjusted James’s glasses, which had been resting askew upon the tip of his nose; it didn’t look right, and Sirius couldn’t help himself. The skin that brushed his fingertips was icy cold, and it sent a painful, aching tremor throughout Sirius’s whole body. “I’m so sorry…” The tears slipped down, but the rage still burned inside him. “I couldn’t… I shouldn’t have told you to use Peter…” He shook so violently that the floorboards beneath him creaked. “I didn’t think… I’m so sorry… it’s all my fault…” He gripped his best friends hand tight, slipping his calloused fingers through James’s, which remained cold and stiff. This was a not his best friend, no; only the now hollow case which had held that soul – that vibrant existence that had so often lit the dark corners of Sirius’s life.

 

It had been extinguished, now, plunging that life into helpless oblivion.

 

The only light Sirius could see now was in vengeance. In hatred.

 

“James, I…” Swallowing hard, the black-haired man squeezed James’s hand, and lay his other flat on the other’s chest. “I’m going to borrow your wand, alright?” His expression was still as stone; still as that of the corpse below him. It didn’t change, or falter. Stuck in place – trapped in one never ending, eternally painful moment. “I’m going to find Peter… you’d do the same, wouldn’t you?”

 

Some tiny, pathetic, hopeful part of Sirius had longed to hear an answer.

 

“I’ll set things right. I’ll take care of Peter and then… then I’ll explain to everyone what happened.” He knew that was a lie, because it had all begun to dawn on him now, in the silence of that house, but he had nothing else to hold onto. Nodding solemnly at his own words, Sirius pressed his weight a little harder against James’s chest, looking almost hopefully to his face. Nothing changed. Nothing ever would.

 

“Right… I’ll… I’ll see you, Prongs, mate.” A pause, punctuating the deafening silence. “James…”

 

*

 

It didn’t take Sirius long to head downstairs, retrieve James’s wand from the drawing room, and dissapparate. To send himself as far away from that place as he possibly could; he reappeared in a wooded clearing, where the ground was damp with midnight rain beneath his feet. He leant heavily against a tree and, without warning, convulsed and vomited, shaking all over as he gripped at the trunk to keep himself upright.

 

Because the weight of it all was beginning to hit him.

 

As far as anyone knew, he was the Potter’s secret keeper.

 

He was the only one who could have caused what happened that night.

 

He was the only one who could have betrayed them.

 

His stomach lurched, and Sirius vomited again, dry-heaving painfully, over and over, when there was nothing left in his stomach.

 

Everyone would think it was him.

 

_Everyone._

 

It might as well have been him, he realised. If he had just agreed to be their Secret Keeper… he knew he would never have said a thing, even if they’d tortured him. Even if they’d threatened to kill him…

 

With one last violent heave, Sirius stumbled back from the tree, and disappeared.

 

*

 

Number twelve Grimmauld Place was just as he had remembered it; dank and dull, full of dust and utterly unwelcoming. Sirius held James’s wand, so familiar in his hand, a tiny piece of comfort now, high above his head, light streaming from its tip to illuminate the suffocating and narrow hallway of the ground floor. He could hear the walls creaking around him as they always had done, but oddly could not hear anything else – not even Kreacher lurking about the place as he often tended to do when the human occupants of the house rested in their beds.

 

Ignoring the feelings of anger and discomfort the place brought back to him, Sirius took a deep breath, and thought of his bedroom.

 

He was stood there in the next moment, staring at so many of his old possessions, now tarnished with dirt and dust.

 

But he had no time to dwell in that place; quickly, he fell to all fours and prodded a loose floorboard with the tip of the wand, focussing upon the words of the levitation charm, _Wingardium Leviosa,_ in his mind. It lifted instantly, floating in the air just inches above a hollow beneath, where letters and photographs, and a questionable looking muggle magazine, were secretly stored.

 

“I’m sorry to do this to you, mate.” His tone was solemn, as he pulled his wand from its place, stuffed into the back of his jeans, and held it over the hollow with a mournful expression. “Don’t want to risk losing you, if things don’t plan out the way I’m hoping…” He smiled at the engraved wand, which fit so perfectly in his hand, and shook his head. “I’m going to miss you, you know. But I’ll come back, once this is all over.”

 

He dropped it down into the hollow, and allowed the floorboard to float back down and into place; for good measure, he moved an old, abandoned book, half open on the floor just inches away, over the hiding spot, in the hopes that no one would think to disturb it. Considering the familiar state of his bedroom however, he very much doubted that anyone ever ventured into the place; even to clean what little floor or surfaces that could be reached. Obviously no one had cared to do it so far.

 

Turning and preparing to dissapparate back downstairs, Sirius stopped dead.

 

His eyes, dull and listless, widened in an instant; having landed upon an old photo, pinned with care to the wall. Sirius didn’t know how long he stood there, just staring at that old photograph. It could have been minutes, or it could have been hours – he was too numb to tell.

 

He wasn’t sure how old they all were; looking at it, it was probably around fifth year – if the Prefects badge, which glistened brightly on Remus’s robes, was any indication. They all looked so happy, and…

 

Remus.

 

It was like a light bulb flickering weakly into life inside his head.

 

The traitor… It hadn’t been Remus.

 

All those months of paranoia. All that worrying… all the damage their relationship had taken – all the anger, all of the distance, the awkwardness, the pain and the hurt… and it had all been for nothing. It had all been because Sirius was too stupid to stop and _think_.

 

He should have just said something.

 

Anything…

 

James smiled out at him from the photograph.

 

Remus smiled softly alongside him.

 

His own face smiled too, a look that seemed utterly wrong now. So very far away.

 

Peter Pettigrew, smiling that beady-eyed smile and looking so very smug…

 

Sparks fizzled at the end of the wand as he felt his rage rising. He didn’t understand how this had happened. Everything had been _fine._ Everything had been _perfect_ , before the war – before they got so heavily involved in all of this. In the Order. Sirius had agreed to join in his Seventh year – early on; he had been called into Albus Dumbledore’s office along with James, expecting to be given a slap on the wrist (or their headmaster’s equivalent – a secretive smile and a suggestion that they ‘be more discreet next time’) upon their arrival for some prank they had pulled, and had been surprised to find the man looking more serious than he had ever known him to look – with Lily Evans, looking just as confused as the two boys, standing before his desk.

 

And he had explained everything to them, then – upon their promise to keep silent, to never utter a word about it to anyone in the Ministry, to their parents, or others. Of course he’d understood if they’d wanted to tell Remus, or Peter- understood if Lily had told her closer friends, as well – but anything beyond was out of the question. He had told them all about the war, about the Order, about their secret contacts within the Ministry itself. About their relentless war against the forces of Lord Voldemort.

 

Sirius remembered how Lily had glanced at James and himself with some disdain, before asking Dumbledore why they were even there. Of course, James was there because of his title as Head Boy – because of his bravery, his skill, and his often highly vocal opinions regarding the Death Eaters and their leader. He had then added, with a fondly twinkling eye, that Sirius was there because he expected James would have told him within a matter of seconds anyway, and that the young man’s own bravery, his talent, his protective nature, and his own, widely known hatred of Voldemort and all of his supporters, even those amongst his own family, would be indispensable in the battles to come.

 

He remembered agreeing instantly, regardless of the consequences – knowing he had little to lose. Yet he remembered James requesting time to decide; claiming that he wanted to help more than anything, but worrying for the safety of his family – recalled a surprised looking Lily nodding in confused agreement, and requesting the same.

 

Recalled how she looked at James a little differently from then on.

 

Back then, this war had only strengthened their relationships; telling Remus, telling Peter… it was like a secret they could all share in, something they could work together to be a part of. Lily would finally talk to James, meeting up with him to discuss their work as Head Boy and Girl, to discuss their joining the Order, and so on. She even began to warm to Sirius, for whom she had always held a distinct disliking; catching up to him in corridors between classes when she spotted him, beginning casual conversations – finding, suddenly, that they actually got on quite well.

 

And suddenly she and James were going out. His best friend had never been happier, and Sirius followed suit – couldn’t help but smile when he spotted James beside her, looking more content than he’d ever done. Sirius was content, too; he had Remus, and everything between them had been _right._ Everything had been laughter and smiles and quick snogging sessions behind the tapestry on the fourth floor.

 

And Peter…

 

Peter hadn’t been the slightest bit worried. He had James and Sirius and Remus to take care of him; and Lily, too.

 

So what had changed?

 

Sirius felt his temper flaring again. Not a thing. Not a _damn_ thing had changed. They had gone into the war knowing they were outnumbered, knowing that they’d be facing hard times. What had Peter expected? That Sirius and James would blast on through hoards of Death Eaters and just take down Voldemort within a handful of months? That everything would just blow over before anything serious happened? That _they’d_ be there to protect him forever?

 

He should have suspected something, that first time he and James came back from a mission-gone-wrong; covered in cuts, bruises and blood, clinging to the body of their comrade. Shaking and trembling from fear and exhaustion and adrenaline and _pain._ He should have suspected something when he saw that horrified look on Peter’s face, as Remus, Lily and Kingsley hurried about the two of them, tending to their wounds and quelling their pained anguish, trying to settle them enough to get at the body – to see if there was any hope of saving their fallen comrade.

 

There hadn’t been, and Peter had never been the same since that day.

 

Sirius _should have noticed._

 

But it was Peter, and Sirius had never once considered him a threat.

 

Sparks shot from the end of his, no, _James’s_ wand, again, and snapped Sirius out of his reminiscent stupor. He stared blankly at the photograph glaring out at him from the wall of the room that had once been his home – images of smiles and laughter burning his cold, hardened heart.

 

 _James was dead_.

 

Peter would be too, soon, if Sirius had anything to say about it.

 

And Remus…

 

“Sorry.” Sirius reached out one unsteady hand, and traced his fingers over the smiling figure, the soft features and the gentle existence held within the photograph. Remus.

 

He wanted to apologise for everything.

 

He wanted to keep his promise, but there was no time for that now.

 

Remus… he would think exactly what everyone else would think. He would think that this was Sirius’s doing. He would think that Sirius had betrayed his best friend, that he was the reason James and Lily lay dead in that house… the reason that Harry was now an orphan, sent to live with his Muggle relatives. He would wake up in the morning, and that would be the news that greeted him. If he didn’t already know, of course…

 

That painful ache in his chest throbbed a little, but Sirius was too numb to feel it; laughing a little, hollowly, at the unfairness of it all. He had nothing left.

 

He had to find Peter.

 

The morning light was beginning to appear on the horizon.

 

Sirius diapparated.

 

*

 

It took him until the afternoon to track Peter down, but in hindsight, that hadn’t been very long at all. Sirius had started with the obvious places – Peter’s mother’s house, the flat the smaller man had lived in for a handful of months just after they had all left school, the pub he, James, Remus and Peter used to frequent during the first year of their time at the Order. There was no sign of Pettigrew anywhere, and Sirius could feel himself growing angrier and angrier – more hysteric as the hours flew by.

 

It passed midday – Sirius avoided the excited groups of Wizards and Witches on the street, who tittered excitedly for all to hear about the fall of the Dark Lord – tones pitying when they finally considered the sacrifice made by the Potters, suddenly loud and marvelling in their mentions of young Harry, who somehow survived the attack, and destroyed Voldemort himself.

 

Sirius couldn’t help stopping to listen to those parts of the conversation, where he could manage it; he hadn’t been capable, back at the house, of wondering why young Harry had lived, too caught up in the grief and the shock to really think straight.

 

Why had Harry lived?

 

No one could give even a half-decent answer.

 

Sirius had bigger things on his mind – Harry was alive, and Voldemort was gone, and, somewhere out there, Peter Pettigrew was getting away with a murder. That was all he needed to know.

 

He found Peter in London. Oxford Street.

 

It hadn’t occurred to him to check there until mid-afternoon; when he finally recalled a weekend-trip he and the other Marauder’s had taken into London during their Christmas holidays in Seventh year. They had gone all over the place that weekend, they’d spent one cold but sunny day in Brighton, skipping stones and splashing each other with freezing water, getting drunk in the evening before heading back to the Leaky Cauldron on the train, singing drunkenly together and stumbling over their own feet. Then they’d spent the following day, hung over and tired, wandering around the city streets with a muggle camera, far too much enthusiasm and far too little money.

 

Oxford street had taken up most of their time. James had joked that, with the amount of people milling about, even ‘You-Know-Who’ wouldn’t have been able to find you on such a street. Peter had taken him quite seriously, whilst Remus and Sirius had laughed at his stupidity.

 

It was somewhere Peter would feel safe, and impossible to find.

 

Only Sirius _had_ found him.

 

He saw Pettigrew, shaking, shifty, eyes darting all about him like a cornered rat; stood beside a road sign, he seemed to be hiding in its shadow, rubbing his stubby hands together, over and over, shoulders hunched and face pale. He looked terrible, as if he hadn’t slept in days, maybe over a week. Sirius couldn’t bring himself to care even a little bit – Peter meant nothing to him now. Peter was an unpleasant rodent that needed to be exterminated.

 

_Peter._

 

Sirius pushed forewords, angering several muggles, but ignored their disgruntled comments. He was already selecting the spells he would cast upon the bastard in his head – an unforgivable curse, for sure; it would be forgivable in this case.

 

_Peter had betrayed them._

 

The Cruciatus curse, surely. It hurt; lord knew Sirius was aware of how much it hurt – it was only fitting that Peter should face such torture for what he had done…

 

_Peter was the reason they were dead._

 

He pulled his wand out of his jeans, held it tightly in his fist.

 

_James_

_._

Trembling all over, Sirius opened his mouth, preparing to shout – to call the traitorous bastard out.

 

_Lily._

 

He wanted to see his face as he did this. Wanted to see the pain…

 

_Peter had destroyed everything._

 

The agony.

 

_Peter needed to pay for what he’d done._

 

The guilt.

 

He needed to see it, and then he would be ready for anything the world could throw at him. The yell welled up inside his throat-

 

“SIRIUS!” Peter was pointing at him, mouth agape – eyes wide and fearful. Several passers by had turned to look at him in astonishment. “SIRIUS BLACK!!”

 

He was going to kill Peter.

 

Sirius felt the colour drain from his face, as the rage burst forth at the sound of the others voice – his own voice loud and booming, raw and hateful. Spittle stained his chin. His eyes were wide, manic, possessed. He looked nothing like the handsome young man he was – he looked deranged, animalistic. Dangerous.

 

He was going to kill Peter.

 

“I’LL KILL YOU. I’LL KILL YOU, YOU SLIMY LITTLE-”

 

“How could you do it, Sirius?!”

 

The rage frothed somewhere beneath the surface. Sirius felt his features grow ever paler. How could he do it? _Kill him_ , did he mean? Oh, easily. So easily, for what he’d done. _He was going to kill Peter_. He was going to kill him because it was fair, it was what he deserved, and then everything would be better. But Peter was still talking to him – voice a desperate squeak, helpless and pitiful. Everyone in the street was turning to stare. A circle was forming around them. Sirius advanced.

 

“Sirius, what did you do?!” Peter half-sobbed, his arms moving behind him as if searching for a wall to press himself against. A coward to the end, Sirius told himself.

 

Yes.

 

He was going to-

 

“Lily and James, Sirius! How could you!”

 

He stopped dead, wand still held tight in his hand, but his arm lowered – eyes, once manic, now filled with utter shock, confusion. Sirius stared at Peter, rage overflowing, but unable to do anything. He could see a triumphant glint in the other’s eye, beneath the tears, beneath the fear, and he knew that something was dreadfully wrong.

 

“How could you just hand them o-over to… to VOLDEMORT!”

 

He should have thought this through.

 

Peter was using that name, without fear. Peter was using circumstance to his advantage. Peter was… it barely registered in Sirius’s mind – Peter was outsmarting him.

 

“You’re the reason they’re dead!”

 

And Sirius blanched, because he knew that was true. If he had just… if he had gone along with James’s wishes from the start, they would still be alive. It was his fault, and he knew it. But…

 

He might have aimed the wand, but he wasn’t the one who cast the curse.

 

“I-I knew it would be you. I knew it! I should have warned them…”

 

A rush of chatter surrounded them, and Sirius understood. All of a sudden he understood _exactly_ what it was Peter was doing, and a rage, greater than anything he had ever felt before, burned inside his chest.

 

Shut up.

 

“Oh, if only I’d warned them!”

 

The people around them began to scream – began to yell and glare and point _at Sirius_.

 

Shut up.

 

“You were their Secret Keeper, Sirius! How could you do that… how…”

 

Someone was shouting for the police.

 

Shut up.

 

“After all they ever did for you, how could you even-”

 

“SHUT UP AND DIE!!”

 

Sirius was raising his wand, but it was too late – Peter hadn’t been looking for a wall to cower against after all. Sirius saw that glint again, saw the edges of a smirk, a look of pure triumph… and then there was an explosion.

 

He realised that Peter had been hiding his wand behind his back the whole time.

 

It almost knocked Sirius clean off his feet, and indeed it hurt – burnt at his skin, stung at his eyes, left him cut and bruised all over… if he had been more of himself, less of the rage and the hatred and the insanity, he would have been worried about the muggles. He saw them fall like dominos around him – caught in the blast, hit by the rubble; heard the screams of panic as they tried to flee the explosion, heard the desperation, the horror, the helplessness. But it meant so little to him, then. He saw Peter – stood there in the dust and debris – cutting off his own finger with a whimpering cry.

 

Sirius stared.

 

People were screaming all about him – dashing about, yelling out that someone needed to call the police, that people were dead – that they needed help. Peter held his hand to his chest, agonised, and then he was gone – a diseased rat to join the thousands of others that dwelled in the sewers of London, no doubt.

 

Still, he stared.

 

And then he heard the faint popping sounds which he recognised so well.

 

Peter had outsmarted him.

 

“There! He’s here… oh god…” Kingsley’s voice cut through the chaos.

 

“Sirius!” Moody’s gruff tones joined his.

 

Peter had destroyed everything.

 

“We’ve found him, its Sirius Black!!”

 

The Ministry had arrived, ten or more Aurors, from the sounds of it.

 

Because of Peter, he was…

 

Sirius took a deep, shuddering breath.

 

Then, he laughed at the absurdity of it all.

 

He laughed, and laughed, and laughed, something inside him would not allow him to stop laughing.

 

“Right lad, stay where you are!”

 

He couldn’t stop himself from laughing.

 

“Sirius… Sirius, put your wand down!” Moody sounded, for the first time in the years Sirius had known him, unsure – as if he could barely believe what was happening. He wasn’t the only one. Sirius couldn’t stop laughing. “Your wand, boy, _your wand_!”

 

James’s wand slipped from between his fingers, clattering to the floor.

 

“Don’t make any sudden moves…” Sirius looked to him, and still he could not stop laughing – even seeing all of these people – many of them once friends, once comrades in the war against Lord Voldemort and his followers, even faced with their accusing, hurt and hateful stares…

 

He could do nothing but laugh.

 

Alice Longbottom shook with a barely-contained sob, her wand still pointed squarely to Sirius; her husband Frank gripped her shoulder tightly, comfortingly, but his gaze never once left the maniacally laughing man stood amongst the rubble. Sirius, through his hazed eyes, gazed at them as he choked upon his laughter – seeing the disbelief, the grief and the hatred which they practically oozed. Even these people, these friends, thought him capable of such betrayal.

 

He was hardly stopping for breath between his demented chortles.

 

“Sirius Black, you are hereby… convicted of the murder of Peter Pettigrew, along with…” There was a pause, in which Alistair Moody’s eye swivelled and swerved, taking in the damage. “Twelve muggles.” Somewhere nearby, Alice let out a strangled sob. “For the revealing of information regarding the Potter’s whereabouts, which led to their murders…” Moody took a moment, seeming to struggle to continue – the words, though firm and solid, holding so little of their usual conviction. “And for being in the service of he who must not be named.”

 

Sirius took a breath, a great, shuddering gesture, which wracked his whole body in tremors… and continued to laugh. His throat was raw and aching, his chest heaved and stung in protest, but he could not stop – the world had ceased to make sense, and there was nothing more he could bring himself to do.

 

“You are to accompany us to Azkaban.” A strong set of hands found and gripped his upper left arm, shortly joined by another on his right; his legs buckled, and still he laughed.

 

“Mad, he is…”

 

“James and Lily… Sirius, how could you even…”

 

But Sirius wasn’t listening.

 

He just continued to laugh.

 

Broken and helpless.

**Author's Note:**

> There's a lot I'd like to change and fix up now that my writing has improved, but I think for such an old work, it's stood the test of time quite well.
> 
> Hopefully I'll have more Marauders era fic to post in the future!


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